Fancy Meeting You Here
by clafount
Summary: Varric is shocked and pleased when the King and Queen of Ferelden show up at the Hanged Man for a night of fun on the town. However, even the imaginative dwarf could never have predicted the twists and turns this evening will entail. Rating will change with later chapters.
1. I'm Glad You Asked

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 1: I'm Glad You Asked_

The two legs of Varric's chair hit the ground with a loud thud.

" . . . and then Hawke ripped the ogre's arms off, yada, yada, yada. . . the end."

He ignored the chorus of groans that erupted at the end of his story and hopped to his feet, heading toward the center of the room, never taking his eyes off the man and woman that had just entered through the front door of the Hanged Man. He heard his listeners disperse behind him, but ignored their unhappy rumblings.

"Hey, Pol!" he hissed at the neighborhood youth that ran errands for the residents of Lowtown. He reached out and grabbed the kid's arm, watching the couple as they hesitantly made their way to a table in the corner.

"Go to the Hawke estate in Hightown," he said, pressing a gold coin in the boy's hand. "Tell Hawke to get his ass over here."

He spared a glance toward the bar, noting the absence of the normally ever-present pirate.

"If Isabela's there, have her come too." He thought a moment and then added, "Check the elf's mansion if she's not at Hawke's. She'd kill me if she missed this."

The boy eyed the gold in his hand with a grin.

"Sure thing, boss! Anyone else you want me to fetch?"

Varric rubbed his chin as his gaze returned to the table in the corner. The pretty blonde was ordering from the barmaid, and from the looks of it, she was giving the poor gal an earful. Her partner, a big man with reddish-blonde hair and a stubble of beard, watched the whole thing with a look of bemused tolerance. He leaned back in his chair, and Varric narrowed his eyes. A glint of fine steel was visible when the man's cloak fell to the side, the unmistakable glow of enchantment peeking out from the humble looking scabbard at the man's hip.

"Yeah," he said, the grin on his face growing ever wider. "Go to Darktown—the clinic. Tell Anders to get down here." He looked the kid in the face. "I'll give you a coin for each of them if they actually show up."

He rubbed his hands together as he watched the boy run off.

"This, my friends, is going to be a night to remember," he said aloud, to no one in particular.

He just hoped everyone would show up. He could spin a convincing tale, but unless they came down here and saw it for _themselves_, his friends would never believe that the King of Ferelden (and his Grey Warden Commander bride) just popped by the Hanged Man for a drink.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Alistair leaned forward to look into his wife's pretty green eyes.

"Are you joking?" She didn't meet his gaze, choosing instead to glance delightedly around the room, apparently pleased at the portraiture of debauchery the Hanging Man had to offer. "This place is _perfect_!"

"Right, perfect," he said dryly, leaning back. "You know, we could be enjoying much finer spirits," he paused as a drunk patron careened by the table, almost running into it, "and a much nicer _atmosphere_ back at the Estate."

She frowned at him.

"What's wrong with you? I thought you liked doing this sort of thing?" She gestured at their simple attire. ". . . going off in disguise, rubbing elbows with your fellow man—you used to drive Eamon crazy on your little jaunts."

"Like I have told you many times, I was a miserable wreck of a drunk back then."

She raised her eyebrows in mock curiosity, as if she'd never heard him say such a thing before.

"Oh you were? You poor thing. Whatever could have caused such heartbreak?" She twirled the end of her braid as she leaned in and listened with complete absorption.

He laughed, and it was his turn to lean forward, reaching a hand across the table to grab hers.

"I like to refer to it as _the Dark Times_." He squeezed her hand and gave her a loving look. "Back when I gained the crown but lost the love of my life."

His smile faltered, in spite of the joking tone they'd both been using. It was still painful to think about how close he'd come to losing her—

"I beg your pardon, milord and lady."

Alistair startled at the velvety voice. A dwarf—one lacking a beard but possessing instead a rather impressive display of chest hair—had appeared beside their table. He offered a wide, friendly smile.

"My name's Varric—Varric Tethras, and I'd like to welcome you to Kirkwall."

Alistair watched with fascination as the dwarf pulled up a chair, turned it around and sat down on it backwards.

"Oh barmaid," the dwarf called out, lifting one thick, tree trunk of an arm while keeping his eyes fixed on the two of them. "Get these two another round, on me."

Alistair saw Elissa sit back and cross her arms, giving the stranger an appraising, if somewhat bemused, look. He shrugged. If the stranger's presence was tolerated by the Queen, it was fine by him. He had learned to live by a simple creed a long time ago: happy wife, happy life.

The dwarf cleared his throat. "This might sound strange to the two of you, but . . ." he stopped as the barmaid came to the table and set down three more pints, only resuming after she had stalked off. ". . . I think we have some mutual friends."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up.

"That does indeed strike me as strange, Ser Varrus—"

"Varric"

"Apologies. Ser Varric—"

"No," the dwarf coughed apologetically. "Just . . .Varric."

"Right."

Elissa's disapproving tone was one Alistair immediately recognized. She'd used it on him back when they first met. He grinned at the memory of her appearing at his elbow at Ostagar, all angry glares and messy blonde hair.

"Varric . . . I would be most surprised to discover we have mutual friends considering you don't even know who we are."

In spite of his wife's haughty tone, Alistair could tell she was enjoying herself. _When was the last time he'd even seen her insult someone new? _The question mad him feel a pang of guilt.

The dwarf waved a hand dismissively at Elissa's protestation.

"I know who you are."

Elissa glanced at him, her face a question mark. Alistair could only shrug. It was very unlikely anyone from Kirkwall would recognize them. Without the pomp and circumstance of his position, and in normal street clothes, he had always blended in just fine when he escaped the castle for his "jaunts" of freedom, back before they were married—

"You're the King and Queen of Ferelden."

At that, Elissa and Alistair both sat up with a jolt. The dwarf raised both hands in a calming gesture.

"Don't worry," he said in a soothing tone. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

Elissa looked skeptical. "Really? Then what is it you want, _dwarf_?"

Alistair winced at Elissa's tone. But if the stranger took offense, he didn't show it.

"Hey, look . . ." The dwarf waved his hands at the two of them. "The King and Queen of Ferelden, the saviors of Orzammar, the Grey Warden Heroes of the Blight . . . and I don't know how many other titles you two have racked up . . . but you walk into the Hanged Man dressed undercover. For a man like me, that's an irresistible opportunity."

Now, it was Alistair's turn to frown. This sounded like the beginning of some kind of business venture pitch. Not what he had in mind when he promised Elissa a night of fun on the town. "An opportunity for what?" he said. "What's your business? What do you trade in?"

Varric rested his arms on the back of his chair and gave the king a cocky smile.

"I'm glad you asked."


	2. Broody McDrama Crap

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 2: Broody McDrama Crap_

Pol skidded to a stop on the dusty street. He had started for Hightown, Hawke's name being first on his list, but he also had to go to Darktown tonight. He looked up at the sky. The night was young—all the stars weren't even out yet. Better to head to Darktown now, before it got too dark and he risked running into Coterie.

He set off for the clinic in a rush.

* * *

"Listen, Buttercup—"

"Buttercup?" Elissa interrupted, eyebrows raised in surprise.

They had moved to a back room at the behest of Varric, who had turned out to only be interested in their stories—at least, that's what he asserted. Alistair still didn't quite trust the dwarf (why did a mere storyteller carry a contraption like _Bianca_ on his back? he was sure he didn't know) but he wasn't worried. He and Elissa could handle themselves.

"Don't mind him," the elf said with a tipsy grin. She'd joined them after they'd moved rooms. The dwarf had introduced her as a Dalish from Ferelden. Varric had introduced them simply as "Elissa and Alistair" but if the girl recognized them, she didn't show it.

"He gives a nickname to almost everyone—except Hawke, for some strange reason."

"With a name like that, a nickname hardly seems necessary," Alistair said, snorting a laugh.

That name had been bandied about a lot already tonight, Alistair noted. The so-called Champion of Kirkwall seemed to be a favorite topic for the charismatic storyteller. Alistair wondered if the man could possibly live up to the legend, and then chuckled at the irony of that, sitting next to the Hero of Ferelden. People talked about her the same way.

"—and an elf named Broody," Merrill was saying. She clapped her hands together all of a sudden and looked at Elissa. "I bet he would have called you Blondie if we didn't already have one in the grou—"

"Let's not talk about Blondie just yet," the dwarf interrupted with a cough and a look.

Alistair cocked his head to the side, about to ask a question, when his wife leaned into him and whispered into his ear.

"I'm having a great time."

Her breath was hot in his ear, and it made all the nerves on his right side tingle. He pulled her close, whispering into her hair. "Good."

They needed this, he realized. It had been far too long since they'd spent time with people simply because they enjoyed their company. It felt good to sit back, spin tales and drink ale with no worries about hidden agendas or political concerns.

"So, tell me," the dwarf put an elbow on the table and leaned forward. "Did you really cure a Dalish tribe of Lycanthropy?"

Alistair smiled to himself as Elissa sat up straight and launched into the tale. "Well, I had to," she said, jerking a thumb at him. "This one managed to get himself bitten . . . it was either cure the clan or watch him turn into a hairy beast."

"Well, _harrier_," Alistair added on cue, drawing a laugh from the elf. He smiled as Elissa went on with her story, content with the company and the conversation.

* * *

Hawke paused before the door and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. I am."

The deep voice _sounded_ sure. Hawke shrugged and pushed open the door of the Hanged Man, the sounds and smells of the raucous tavern leaking out into the Lowtown air like so much pollution. He held the door open as Fenris crossed the threshold, followed closely by Isabela and then himself.

* * *

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Anders winced, hoping the young messenger would get the picture and be on his way. He had just a few adjustments to make to his mixture, and he didn't need any interruptions. Not tonight.

"Anders? I gotta message for ya from Varric—at the Hanged Man. Hello?"

The messenger boy waited a few more moments, fidgeting restlessly, before finally giving a frustrated grunt and running off. Anders risked peeking out of his hiding spot and saw the boy running at a quick pace toward the elevator shaft people used to get to Lowtown.

He contemplated the lad's quick pace: Varric must have paid a pretty penny to warrant that kind of speed. He paused a moment to wonder what the dwarf could want before shaking his head and getting back to work.

No drink was as important as his current task, he decided, putting the boy and his curious behavior out of his mind.

* * *

"Barkeep, another round!" Varric barked at the man behind the counter. "There's extra coin in it if you can manage to keep your thumbs out of the pints this time."

The man grumbled at him and turned to fill the glasses. Varric looked around the bar while he waited.

He was starting to get impatient. It was great that Daisy had randomly stopped by, of course, but the elf wouldn't have understood the significance of their guests even if Varric had tried to explain. The Dalish didn't know or care about human royalty.

He needed Blondie. Or Riviani. And of course, Hawke _had_ to show up. If Varric couldn't get the Champion of Kirkwall and the Heroes of Ferelden to sit down and have a drink together tonight he'd consider himself an abject failure in this life and the next.

Anders had talked enough about the Warden Commander for Varric to know not to underestimate the petite woman. To hear the healer tell it, she blazed a trail through Amaranthine, eventually defeating a new breed of darkspawn and landing herself the crown to boot.

As for the King, well . . . if you believed Riviani's stories, she and the King knew each other well. The pirate had always been the type to kiss and tell, and she didn't leave many details to the imagination when she talked about bedding him back when she was in Denerim. Varric had never really believed her stories—Isabela had enough experiences to draw from that she could spin a convincing tale ripe with juicy details. Didn't mean they were true.

At least, not all of them. Some of them he believed. Like the ones where Isabela taught the Queen how to duel. Isabela might lie about who she slept with, but she never lied about a duel. She had a reputation to maintain, after all.

He just wanted to see her face when she saw them. Would she fess up to the lie? Varric doubted it. He had no idea how she might try to spin this, but he wanted to find out.

Just then the front door opened, and Varric's face split into a wide grin.

"Hawke!" Varric shouted excitedly and headed for the trio that had just walked in.

Fenris ignored him completely, his brow furrowed into his customary frown. He stomped toward a table in the middle of the dining room.

"Not now, Varric," Hawke said with a firm shake of his head as he followed in the elf's footsteps. Isabela shrugged at him and followed suit.

Varric slouched in disappointment, and then tensed up as he watched Fenris approach a table with a pretty, red-haired elf. Something in the girl's stature alerted him.

_Shit! _

_Shitshitshit. _

A mage and several of his followers appeared, surrounding the elf and the Champion. Fenris's face went from inquisitive to shocked to brutally full of rage before drawing the gigantic sword off his back and lunging at the mage.

_I don't have time for this Broody McDrama crap tonight!_ Varric pulled Bianca from his back and took aim.

* * *

So many things were happening at once. It was making Merrill's head spin.

First, she'd showed up for a friendly drink with Varric, only to have him drag her to the back room to have drinks with a couple of Ferelden humans. They seemed nice enough, and Merrill tried to laugh at the right parts of their stories, but she kept feeling like she was missing essential pieces of the puzzle.

The wine didn't help.

Neither did the fact that Varric kept interrupting her! She couldn't understand it. The humans had traded stories with Varric back and forth, all night long, but when Merrill tried to talk he would cough and change the subject before she could even get started.

It was odd, Merrill thought, and not at all like him. He was usually so polite.

But all of that paled in comparison to when the man turned to the woman and said one word before they both leaped up and dashed out of the room.

The word?

_Magic_.

She stood with a frown and tried to walk a straight line to the door. She had to find out what the hell was going on.

"Hic!"

Even if she did have the hiccups.


	3. The Pirate Queen and the Ice Queen

_Author's Note: Thank you to all who have read, followed, favorited or reviewed so far. I appreciate it! I hope you're enjoying this silly, wild story. It's mostly going to be a humorous/smutty story (we'll get to the smut eventually) with a few notes of angst thrown in here and there. The whole gang will show up, but some are more prominent than others, but I tried to give them all something to do here. Hope you continue to enjoy it!_

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 3: The Pirate Queen versus the Ice Queen_

The mage never stood a chance.

At first it looked dicey—Danarius had what seemed like a never-ending stream of cronies to launch at them, and when those were gone, he started in with the demon summoning.

That probably spelled his doom, Varric mused as he kicked aside the still smoking corpse of a shriek. Once the mage started casting, it was all over. He got the attention of the big man in the back room, and he appeared, using a chair as a make-shift shield and bellowing loudly as he slammed into the Tevinter magister, draining the man quickly of all his mana. It was all over after that.

A few seconds of silence as the dust settled, and everyone realized they'd won. And then a bunch of things happened at once.

First, Alistair turned around and almost knocked over Isabela. His eyes went wide. "Isabela?"

Isabela's mouth hung open. "Your _majesty_?" she gasped out, loud enough for the few patrons who hadn't already escaped to hear.

Daisy and Hawke froze in place sporting twin looks of disbelief. "'_Your majesty?_'" they said in unison.

And _then_, the Warden Commander emerged from behind the king. Varric was shocked to see the small woman's delicate features curled into a sneer.

"Is . . . a . . . _bella_," she said. Varric could swear his testicles shrank a size from the iciness of her voice.

"Oh it's the Ice Princess!" Isabela said in the most sarcastic sing-song voice she could muster. Alistair's face was turning the most fascinating shade of red. Or was it purple now?

"Isabela, I'm sure you remember Elissa . . . my wife."

Varric watched in delight as an expression that could _almost _be considered chagrin descended over Riviani's face. He hadn't thought her capable of it.

He was so absorbed in the dramatic scene that was unfolding before him that he didn't even notice Hawke and Fenris had moved off to the corner until he heard Hawke's voice above the din.

"Fenris, that's your sister!"

Sister? _Shit_. . .

"So I guess I should say, Ice Queen?" he heard Isabela say as he made his way over to Hawke. He would have loved to see Elissa's reaction to that, of course, but . . . this shit with Fenris seemed pretty serious.

* * *

The confrontation with Fenris was over quickly enough, with both Hawke and Varric managing to convince the distraught elf not to kill his backstabbing sister.

Varric could sympathize.

Hawke looked for a moment like he was going to follow the elf after he stomped off. Varric put up a hand to stop him.

"Hawke, let him go," he said. "You know how Broody is. He needs time to himself to . . . you know, brood."

Hawke smirked. "I suppose you're right."

"I am!" Varric said confidently. "And besides, look who is here! Can you believe this shit?"

"No," Hawke snorted, looking over at the couple with skepticism. Suddenly his expression changed and he cocked his head to the side. "Why does the Warden Commander have a dagger pointed at Isabela's throat?"

"What?!" Varric almost knocked Daisy down as he ran, quick as his short legs could carry him, to the pirate's side.

* * *

Hawke helped Merrill regain her balance, giving her an arm with which to steady herself. She looked up at him with an appreciative smile.

"I haven't the slightest idea what is going on," she confessed. At Hawke's surprised face she gave a little self-deprecating laugh.

"It's like I need a primer on all things Ferelden," she continued while he led her over to the others. "I know I'm from there, but I don't think I'm from the same Ferelden as all of you."

Hawke stopped and pointed at the woman Varric had introduced said was Elissa. "That's the Warden Commander of Ferelden . . . or at least she used to be. Don't you remember Anders talking about her?"

She watched the way his beard moved when he talked, fascinated by all that hair on his face. Hawke quickly explained how the two humans were the very same Wardens who killed the Archdemon and ended the Blight, not so very long ago.

"Come, come sweet thing," Merrill turned away in time to hear Isabela say. "You know I'm _teasing_! One of the things that I have always loved about you is the fact that you're a stone cold . . . _bitch_.

Merrill gasped. And then hiccupped.

"Come, come _Isabela_," the Warden managed to make her friend's name sound like a slur. "You know damn well the reason you have my dagger at your throat has nothing to do with whether you like me or not, and everything to do with the fact that you tried to have me _killed_."

Merrill blinked drunkenly, starting to remember the various stories she'd heard when hanging out, playing cards with Isabela.

"What do you mean you tried to have her killed?" Hawke asked. Merrill noticed the way his arm muscles tensed when he spoke. Such very large arm muscles.

Elissa's voiced snapped her back to the situation at hand.

"She trapped me in a room with seven Antivan Crows and told them they'd each get twenty sovereigns if I never made it out." Elissa pressed the dagger against Isabela's neck and leaned into the pirate.

Merrill held her breath. Isabela gave the barest of shrugs.

"That was the last part of your training! It was a test." She grinned wickedly at the furious Queen glaring up at her. "Congratulations! You passed."

Merrill felt faint, sure the blonde woman was going to rip out Isabela's throat, if not with her dagger, than with her teeth. Elissa muttered something incomprehensible, and Merrill feared Isabela had finally made her last wisecrack, but Alistair stepped in just in time. He gently laid a hand on Elissa's wrist and then guided her back a step.

"Look," Alistair gave his wife a little shake to get her attention. "Elissa! What are you going to do? Slit her throat here in front of all these people."

"What's one more body?" she muttered, still pointing her dagger at Isabela, who—Merrill thought—appeared far more smug than she really ought.

Alistair sighed. "Come on. We're supposed to be out having fun. So let's commit to that: fun, not murder." He glanced around at the bodies that were being noisily hauled away. "Er. . . . or at least less murder."

Elissa took her eyes off Isabela and looked up at her husband. She must've liked what she saw there because she finally lowered the dagger and slid it back into the sheath at her hip.

"Fine, no more murder" she said. "At least not tonight," she added menacingly, glaring at Isabela.

"Great!" Varric said stepping forward and gesturing at all of them. Before he could continue, Merrill gasped.

"Oh that's funny," she blurted out suddenly. "_Hic_! And here we were all so worried this was all because you knew Isabela slept with your husband!"

* * *

It was a testament to the Champion's charisma, or perhaps to the fluid nature of the Warden's loyalties or to—some other blasted random variable Varric couldn't begin to figure—that the night didn't end then and there with Daisy's adorable little outburst.

But instead of the chorus of denials and accusation he had expected, a tense stillness descended on the party after Merrill's hiccupping exclamation.

"I have two words to say to that," Alistair said quietly after a moment of standing next to a frozen Elissa. "No, three words_. Dark times_. And _Antiva_."

And for reasons of which Varric had no clue, those three words were the winning pieces in whatever private chess match the two of them were playing right in front of all his friends.


	4. The Artist Formerly Known as Isabela

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 4: The Artist Formerly Known as Isabela_

Pol took turns hopping on each leg while the footfalls he heard approaching the front door of the old Amell estate got closer and closer.

"Hallo?" he heard a voice say at last.

"Message for Master Hawke, Messere."

After he heard some grumbling and then a fumbling of locks, the door opened and a dwarf in a fancy coat appeared. "Why do they never come while he's here?" the little man said, to himself. He held out his hand. "Alright, hand it over. I'll be sure Ser Hawke gets it . . . "

Pol shrugged. "I ain't got no written one. Just let Ser Hawke know he's wanted down at the pub."

"Wanted? At the pub?" the dwarf's voice raised an octave with incredulity. "Ah, bugger off with you. You're just fishing for handouts." He went to close the door.

"It's true. And I don't need your handouts. Messere Varric's payin' good coin to see that Hawke and his friends show up at the Hanged Man tonight."

The dwarf frowned.

"Well, the master's out. If I see him, I'll let him know." The dwarf closed the door and Pol heard him turning the locks back into place.

He stared a moment at the closed door, chewing his lip. The dwarf had promised him a coin for each that showed up. So far, he was zero for two.

He rubbed his neck. He supposed he had to try the old mansion. He had been hoping to avoid the place.

Still, the gold sovereign in his pocket was lonely for friends, so he ran off toward the decrepit building.

* * *

Bodahn had no sooner returned the locks on the door and turned for the great room when he heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock, and turned around to face his master entering with a crowd of his friends.

"Bodahn!" Master Hawke said in a booming voice. "We have guests. Could you go to the cellar and bring up a few bottles of wine?"

Bodahn opened his mouth to speak, but when Master Hawke's guests entered the foyer his words died in his throat. He gaped at the visitors, unable to speak.

"Bodahn?" The Grey Warden he'd traveled with back during the Blight looked at him in shock. "What are you doing here?"

* * *

"I can't believe they agreed to come back here," Hawke said, lifting his drink to his lips.

"I can't believe Riviani was telling the _truth_," Varric answered, eliciting a choke of laughter out of the champion. The two of them were standing in one corner of the sitting room at Hawke's estate.

Somehow Varric had persuaded Hawke to convince the couple to accept an invitation back to the Hawke estate. The whole lot of them had shown up, and the little impromptu party had been going on for a little while now. Everyone was well into their cups.

Varric looked at the Champion out of the corner of his eye. He was watching the rest of the party. Isabela and Merrill flanked Elissa on the couch, while the King stood in the opposite corner of the room, having an excited conversation with Bodahn.

"I can't believe they know my dwarf," Hawke said, and they both snorted with tipsy laughter.

"You'd better watch it big guy," Varric said. "We've still got to meet Sebastian in a couple of hours."

Hawke had only agreed to have everyone over if Varric promised to go with him later to meet up with Sebastian at the Chantry. Apparently Choir Boy had some kind of clandestine meeting with an agent of the Divine.

"You're right," Hawke said finishing his drink and setting it down on the counter.

Varric smiled inwardly. It was good to see the warrior having fun for once, and socializing. This big house had to seem awfully empty now that both Leandra and Bethany were gone. And Hawke had spent far too many nights in it alone, if Varric's sources could be trusted.

Some might think the fact that Varric kept tabs on his friends' activities odd or even creepy. But he couldn't help it. His niche—hell, as far as he considered it, his _calling_—had always been to know things that others didn't. Or didn't want him to know. Or didn't know that they wanted _him_ to know.

Wait. . . _Ancestors_, he was drunk.

* * *

"What do you want?"

Pol gulped—his mouth and throat suddenly dry. He found the elf with the strange markings scary on his good days. From what Pol could tell, today was not a good day.

"Beg pardon, messere, I was just looking for Isabela . . . "

"She's not here." Fenris moved to shut the door.

Pol unthinkingly put up a hand on the wooden door. "Wait!" he cried, and then his face grew pale as the green-eyed elf glared with nostril-twitching rage at first Pol's hand, and then at Pol's face.

"Never mind!" he called, turning and running off as fast as he could go.

Fenris glared at his retreating form for a minute, before raising the bottle to his lips again and slamming the door.

* * *

Merrill sipped her drink and desperately tried to think of something to say.

She was sitting on the couch with the two other women, and they weren't talking either. Somehow Merrill knew that in their current temporary social circle it was her job to bridge the conversational gap between these two women—to try to build a bridge of friendship, as it were.

"You know," she said with a cough. "There are a lot of Fereldens in Kirkwall."

She gave a hopeful smile that Isabela would pick up the conversation where she left off, but the pirate was staring at a spot on the wall somewhere above Merrill's right eye. It was rather disconcerting.

Elissa made no response either. She just sat there bouncing the leg she'd crossed and sipping her drink.

It was funny. Merrill had a hard time picturing the friendly man she'd just met tonight as a human king. He met none of her expectations.

The Queen on the other hand. . . Merrill was no expert on such things but she got the feeling the Queen rather _expected_ to be Queen . . . at some point?

Before she could muse too much on it she remembered that she was supposed to be making conversation.

"Right, well, there's Cullen," she continued gamely. "He's Ferelden. Was apparently part of the Ferelden Circle." Something alighted in the fog of her memory. "Hey didn't you do um . . . something? With the Ferelden circle?"

"_Cullen_?" Elissa's said, incredulously. "What's he doing in Kirkwall?"

Merrill coughed. Why had she brought up Cullen? She'd completely forgotten about how the king was a Templar. Or used to be. Or something. It was all very strange because if Alistair wasn't very king like, he was even less Templar . . . like.

And Merrill had lived in Kirkwall for years now. She had met a lot of unTemplar-like Templars. And he was the unTemplarist . . .

Merrill shook her head. This had to be her last drink. She was _drunk_.

"Well, you know. He's just . . . I guess he's just same as he was. Being a . . . well, a Templar, and all." She feebly tried to remember if she'd performed any blood magic during the fight with Danarius at the Hanged Man. Would Alistair have noticed? What would he do if he had? Had she even done it?

Wait, what was she even trying to think of now?

* * *

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Hawke turned to Varric and said suddenly. "How did you even recognize them? You've never met them, and you're not even from Ferelden."

Varric blinked at him. "Come on, you've seen Isabela's sketches."

He had, of course. Isabela's obscene handiwork graced nearly every table at the Hanged Man. He opened his eyes wide with surprise when he recalled a series of them depicting a man and a woman . . .

"Holy shit."

"I know right?" Varric chuckled. Then he shook his head and said seriously, "She's actually _really_ talented!"


	5. Everybody's More Fun Drunk

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 5: Everybody's More Fun Drunk_

Elissa had never gotten on well with the Dalish. It struck her as suddenly odd, considering she really did find their delicate facial tattoos quite stunning. They just had nothing in common at all, she realized as she tried to follow what the strange, little elf was saying. Something about Templars.

Sitting next to Isabela made it hard to concentrate.

That she still kept the pirate's company wasn't all that odd for her—not really. Half her companions had tried to kill her at some point or another, it seemed. And half of those had tried to sleep with her after. A couple of them had succeeded.

Elissa took a deep breath and risked a sideways glance at the pirate. Isabela was reclined on the couch, the picture of relaxation and confidence. Elissa was feeling pretty relaxed and confident herself, in spite of the chaotic start to her evening. She figured it had something to do with the strong drinks the dwarf had been mixing for everyone.

She looked again at the pirate sitting next to her and briefly wondered if being Isabela was like being mildly drunk, only all of the time.

It seemed kind of . . . fun.

So when Isabela finally stopped staring at a spot on the wall and leaned over and said, "You know, if you think about it, you should really thank me," Elissa didn't immediately reach for her dagger and plant it in the woman's copious bosoms.

Instead she merely raised an eyebrow and tried to match the wicked look Isabela was shooting in her direction.

"Should I?"

Isabela shot a significant look at the King, who was now seated at a small table with Hawke and Varric. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "You definitely came out _on top_ in that situation."

Elissa pursed her lips and tried to resist rolling her eyes at Isabela's overdone innuendo. She knew what was going on here. Isabela was trying to drag the conversation—and Elissa—toward more salacious things. She would have shaken her head in chagrin if Isabela hadn't been staring at her.

She didn't know why this _thing_ with the curvaceous pirate always surprised her.

She remembered how shocked she'd been after their first meeting, when Alistair—who she hadn't even kissed yet—informed her that the busty pirate had far more interest in _her_ than was strictly professional.

She had stopped in the street in Denerim, her mouth in a little round "O" of surprise as the realization of what Alistair said sunk into her.

Her eyes had gone wide, and she had said in a breathy whisper. "Oh . . . that's interesting."

And of course, that had struck everyone as just hilarious, especially when after a pregnant pause Zevran had remarked under his breath that they'd all just borne witness to the sexual awakening of Elissa Cousland.

She'd come a long way since then.

"Of course I came out on top, Isabela," she said (in the tone Alistair liked to refer to as her "noble brat" voice). "I'm Queen of Ferelden, married to that masterpiece of a man over there, and you're a pathetic pirate with no crew, no ship—"

"And no pants!"

Merrill's hand flew to her mouth to try to stem the giggles that followed that little outburst. Elissa raised her eyebrows. The girl was starting to get amusing_. I should have gotten Velanna drunk_, she realized, far too late for it to do much good.

The Dalish were probably much more fun when drunk.

Hell, everybody was.

* * *

"Aren't you worried?"

Hawke looked up from the cards he was shuffling to see Varric lean over and ask the King his question in a low tone. At the King's quizzical look, Varric jerked his chin at the ladies on the couch.

Alistair followed his gaze. Isabela was leaning into the Queen, laughing loudly while Merrill was giggling into her hands. The Queen wasn't laughing, but she did seem mildly amused at least.

He shrugged. "They seem to be getting along."

Varric threw Hawke a quick glance and rolled his eyes. Hawke smirked into his cards. He knew where Varric was going even before he spoke up again.

"No, I mean," Varric coughed. "Aren't you worried, about them . . ." he shuffled in his seat uncomfortably before finishing in an even quieter tone, "comparing notes?"

Hawke stifled a groan at the dwarf's impertinent question. He looked up to see the King's reaction, wondering briefly if he'd turn one of the many shades of red they'd seen at the Hanged Man.

But he didn't seem rattled. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at first, but then he smirked and leaned back in his chair, letting his head roll to the side so he could get another look at the women on the couch.

He narrowed his eyes a moment, and stroked his chin, before turning back to the table with a shrug.

"Naw," he said with a grin. Both Varric and Hawke burst into bawdy laughter at the unexpected display of confidence.

The king was alright, Hawke decided then and there.

* * *

Pol had been so frightened that he didn't even think about where he was running to. He just knew that he had to get away from that . . . monster.

So he wasn't even looking where he was going when he rounded a corner and landed nose first into the shield of the Captain of the Guard.

"Owwww!" he wailed in pain, landing on his ass with a thump and bringing his hands to his face. His nose was broken, he was sure of it. He felt hot blood running over his lips and he blinked away tears.

"There, there," the smooth and calming lilt of Captain Aveline's voice pierced the haze of his pain. He blinked up at her. She was frowning down at him in a look he could best describe as Officially Sympathetic.

Another guard stepped forward and offered Pol a hand.

"Come here lad," he said, pulling the boy to his feet and grabbing his face with his chin. "You're going to need healing."

"And where were you off to in such a hurry at this hour?" Aveline interrupted. Clearly the sympathetic portion of their encounter was over.

Pol jerked his chin out of the man's hands and then turned to spit out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He tested his front tooth with his tongue, fearing it felt loose.

He slumped his shoulders forward. Varric hadn't said anything about keeping things secret and he was in no shape to resist the Captain's questioning. "Varric says he'll pay me a coin each to fetch his friends to the Hanged Man."

The ginger-haired woman frowned. "His friends?" she said. "Who?"

Pol sighed. His head hurt and he had still failed to deliver a single message.

Aveline must have taken his hesitance for insolence. "Son, I asked you a question," she said sternly.

What did he care if she knew?

"The Champion, the Pirate and the Healer."

Donnic let the boy go after he'd sworn to visit the healer in Darktown. He turned to his wife to see her frowning into the dirt at their feet.

His mouth moved into a straight line. "Aveline—"

"Why's Varric paying such good coin to get his Ferelden friends to the Hanged Man tonight?" she said aloud, but clearly not to him.

"Aveline—"

"Something's going on," she said, turning to look in the direction the boy had stumbled off in. "Come on." She turned and started walking, not giving him a chance to respond. "We're going to the Hanged Man."

_So much for a romantic midnight stroll in Hightown,_ Donnic thought, before sighing and turning to follow.

* * *

Sebastian's breath puffed out before him, like smoke from a pipe, into the unseasonably chilly night air as he raced down the steps of the Chantry. He was early, he knew, but his excitement at meeting an agent of the Divine had propelled his feet outside and down the steps before he was really aware what he was doing.

He glanced up at the sky. A clear night. Full of stars.

He set off toward the Keep. He could wait for Hawke there.

* * *

"But seriously," Isabela continued, and Merrill noticed she had inched closer still to Elissa. "I can think of at least three . . . no _four_ new moves I taught him that I know you're grateful for.

Merrill sputtered and choked on her drink at Isabela's words, but the two women paid her no mind—they seemed to have forgotten she was there.

Elissa shook her head and looked at the ceiling. "We were fine without any help from you, sweetheart," she said with a smirk.

"That's right!" Merrill wouldn't have thought it possible, but Isabela's grin grew even more wicked. "Betchya picked up a thing or two of your own from your time in _Antiva_," she said with a leer, closing the distance between herself and the Queen.

Merrill thought her eyelashes might just fall off, so rapidly was she blinking. She willed herself to stop and when she finally did, she saw that Elissa hadn't moved an inch. If she had given a response to Isabela's statement, Merrill missed it.

The Queen just stared at the pirate, a smile on her lips that seemed a bit . . . well, the word that came to Merrill was "feral" but that seemed a bit harsh and after all she was a bit drunk and . . . it did rhyme with her own name.

_Feral_. _Merrill_.

Isabela went on.

"I've got to give you credit, Princess," Isabela said, casually brushing aside an errant strand of Elissa's hair with her fingers. "You do have excellent taste in men."

* * *

"Isabela," Elissa said warningly. "Don't start."

The pirate threw up her arms in a gesture of innocence. "Me? Start something?"

Elissa rolled her eyes and took another drink, shaking her head slightly. Not two hours ago she'd had her dagger pointed at Isabela's throat, and now she was sitting here letting the pirate flirt with her.

It must've been the booze.

"I'm just saying," Isabela said saucily, draping an arm over the back of the couch so that her fingertips "accidentally" grazed Elissa's shoulder—a casual gesture—or it would have been, from anyone else. Elissa felt her skin tingle at the touch. Isabela's hands had always been unnaturally warm . . .

Isabela leaned over her to address the Dalish elf on her left, again "accidentally" letting her breasts press up against Elissa's arm.

"Alistair's not the only man we've shared," she said to Merrill in a wicked low tone. Elissa turned her head away from Isabela's—which was suddenly far too close to her. She tried to ignore Isabela's hot breath in her ear.

"Isabela," she said reproachfully. "Leave this poor girl out of it. She doesn't want to hear about any of that."

Merrill was staring at the two of them–she had the look of a startled doe with those weirdly big eyes of hers.

Isabela snorted.

"Please, Merrill's heard it all before. I've told her everything," Isabela traced a finger down the side of Elissa's arm, drawing out the last word as she did.

"It's true," the elf said with a nervous laugh. "There are even drawings."


	6. The Best Worst Ideas

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 6: The Best Worst Ideas_

"I know this might sound strange but, would you mind if I came with you?"

Varric and Hawke stared at him like he was crazy. After a beat Varric said, "You want to come with us?"

Alistair wasn't sure if he could explain it. The fight at the tavern had done something to him—rejuvenated some part of him he didn't even realize needed reviving.

He had not grown lax in his training regimen since assuming the crown, but he had very little opportunity to practice real combat. Before tonight, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been called upon to use his Templar skills.

The meeting at the Keep would likely be uneventful—he had gathered that much from the snippets of conversation he'd overheard between the Champion and the dwarf. Still, it sounded better to him than sitting in some noble's estate getting drunk. Maker knew, he could do that any night he wanted.

"I don't know. . ." he shrugged. "This Prince friend of yours sounds intriguing, and it's been years since I had a clandestine meeting in the middle of the night." He gave them a charming smile. "Guess I kinda miss it."

He watched the Champion and the dwarf glance at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise. Hawke gave an almost imperceptible shrug and Varric turned back to Alistair.

"What about Buttercup?" he said, nodding his head at the ladies on the couch. "Is she going to have a problem?"

"What her?" Alistair stood and pushed in his chair. "I don't have to check with her," he said breezily.

Hawke and Varric froze mid-rise and gave him skeptical looks.

"I mean, obviously _I'm going to check with her_. But I don't think she'll mind."

"It's your funeral," the dwarf snorted, watching the King step gingerly over to the couch.

* * *

There was a crowd gathered outside of the Hanged Man. That was unusual, Aveline thought. While the place should certainly be busy at this time of night, Aveline had never seen a line to get in.

Donnic helped her push to the front of the crowd at the door.

"I done told you all, we're closed for the night," they heard the bald man at the door say. "Now bugger off!"

The man's expression changed when Aveline and Donnic stepped in front of him.

"Awww, horseshit," he muttered. "Who tattled to the guard?"

Aveline and Donnic shared a look.

"Tattled what?" Aveline demanded. "Why are you closed?"

The bald man rolled his eyes and stuck a finger in his ear.

"Fight broke out," he said with a sniff. "Got lots of broken tables, chairs . . . glass everywhere." He shrugged. "You know, the usual."

Just then the door banged open and a young man, not much older than the messenger boy from earlier, started backing out, dragging a corpse behind him.

Aveline glared. "How many dead? Any innocents harmed?"

"More bodies than I'd care to deal with, I'll tell you that," the man said, turning and spitting. He nodded at Aveline. "Your Champion and his friends made sure it didn't go on too long," he said. "They dealt with these Trevinter scum."

He kicked the foot of the corpse the other man was dragging away.

Aveline sighed. _Hawke_. What had he gotten into now?

* * *

"Hawke, wait!"

Hawke turned to look down the darkened street. Merrill was running toward him, pointed ears bobbing up and down as she rushed to catch up. She came to a halt before him and then said with a breathy smile, "Can I come with you?"

Her cheeks were a bit red, whether from the alcohol or the exertion he didn't know. He smiled at her. She looked pretty cute all out of breath and disheveled from the dash to him. "You aren't having fun with the ladies?"

"Fun? Oh, of course. Loads of fun," she said, too quickly. At his amused expression, she confessed. "That's a lie. It's really not that much fun. I kind of think . . ." Her cheeks turned even redder. "I'm a bit of a third wheel."

_Aww, the poor thing_. He'd been having such a blast talking to Varric and the king that he hadn't even noticed she wasn't having a good time. He looked up the street to where Alistair and Varric were animatedly talking, not even noticing that Hawke had stopped.

He held out his arm to Merrill. "Come on," he said smiling down at her. She beamed up at him and took his arm.

* * *

"Alone at last," Isabela said, slowly walking toward Elissa, two drinks in her hands. The Queen was standing in front of the fireplace, staring up at a portrait of Hawke that hung above the mantel.

Isabela stepped up behind her, leaving only an inch or so between them. She could smell the Queen's perfumed hair. She breathed in the scent of her, reveling in it._ Maker._ it had been years, but one scent was all it took for Isabela to be thrust back in time, images of the Queens naked body flashing in her mind. She distinctly remembered the feel of those small, perky, utterly _perfect_ breasts under the palms of her hands.

She reached past Elissa and set her drink on the mantel, pushing up against her as she did. Elissa turned her head away, exposing a tantalizing expanse her neck, so close to Isabela's lips . . .

"Don't even think about it, _pirate_," the Queen said in an icy tone, "unless you fancy feeling my dagger on your neck a second time this evening."

Isabela chuckled and removed her hand from the fireplace mantel.

"Oh you poor, _sweet_ thing," she purred. "You can't possibly still be mad at me for that stupid little Crow thing."

Elissa spun, turning around to face her. "That 'stupid little Crow' thing nearly killed me," she said, eyebrow arched in reproach.

Isabela chuckled and ran her finger over one of the arms Elissa had crossed at her chest. "They were never any match for you!" she said emphatically. "I knew you'd be fine."

Elissa snorted. "And if you got to collect Loghain's bounty on me, should I not survive . . . well, that would work out nicely for you too, wouldn't it?"

"Exactly!" Isabela said with a smile. "See? You've always understood me so well, pretty girl . . ."

She moved her hand to Elissa's waist before slowly stepping in close. Elissa looked up at her with a smirk, but Isabela saw the smolder that had started behind the Queen's eyes.

"Why don't you let me make it up to you?" she said in a low whisper smiling a crooked smile as she watched Elissa's eyebrows rise and heard the hitch in her breath.

Oh yes. She _had_ her now.

* * *

"I just don't understand it," Merrill said, walking next to Hawke. "Varric's never been so rude."

She had finally explained after much prodding from Hawke why she was sporting hurt looks whenever the dwarf's back was turned. Finally, he had slowed his pace to fall even further behind the King and Varric, and forced her to tell him the whole story.

He was glad he had. He could see that it was all a simple misunderstanding right away.

"Let me guess," he said gently. "You were talking about Anders?"

The Dalish markings folded together in a fascinating new pattern when Merrill furrowed her brow at Hawke's question. "I don't know. Maybe? Why?"

Hawke laughed and shook his head. "You know Varric—he loves theater." Merrill continued to look at him blankly. "The Warden doesn't know Anders is here," he explained patiently. "I'm sure Varric just wants their reunion to be as dramatic as possible. He probably just didn't want you spoiling the news that Anders is in Kirkwall."

"Oh." Merrill's eyes grew wider with comprehension, and she nodded to herself. "Of course! I feel silly." She gave another of her self-deprecating laughs. "I can just hear him telling the story already. 'No shit, there I was, minding my own business. . .'"

Hawke laughed at her impression. She looked up at him with twinkling eyes. "Thanks, Garret. I don't know what I'd do without you." She looked down; suddenly seeming shy after the display of sincerity.

"I feel the same way," he said, grinning at her. He glanced at the other two men walking ahead of him, before offering his arm again to Merrill.

She took it, but instead of just resting her hand at his elbow as before, she slid it down to rest in his own, interlacing her fingers with his. She looked up at him with a tiny, hopeful smile that made his heart feel light.

They turned to follow the others, walking hand in hand into the night.

* * *

Elissa could have laughed at herself. She'd allowed Isabela to drag her from the warmth of Hawke's hearth, out into the cold night air, with her vague promises of adventure and scandal. Why she had agreed to it, she couldn't really say.

Isabela had leaned into her, pressing the full length of her glorious, ridiculously proportioned body against her, and said, "You still have a thing for pretty elves with markings?"

She should have just laughed in the pirate's face and told her to step back, but she hadn't. Maker, she couldn't help herself sometimes. She'd led a good life the past few years, and had always been a faithful and loving wife, in spite of lots of temptations.

But she'd already given into to temptation _once_ with Isabela . . . resisting a second time would hardly matter, in the grand scheme of things, she reasoned to herself.

"Why?" she had answered in a breathless whisper.

And that's how she had ended up here, chasing after Isabela on a dark street in Hightown in the middle of the night.


	7. Ser Fenris

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 7: Ser Fenris_

Fenris threw the bottle at the wall, enjoying the shocking shattering sound that pierced the stillness of the Hightown night on impact. That had been the second (_or was it the third?_) of the evening.

It hadn't been enough. He could still see his sister's face in front of him, pleading for her miserable life.

To think . . . he'd asked for these markings, _volunteered_ for it . . .

_No._

He stumbled out of his room in the dark, making his way down to the kitchens to get another bottle of wine. He should just move all the bottles to his room. Or start drinking in the kitchen.

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard footsteps outside the front door. He tensed, stilling his descent in the darkness, and waited.

"Fenris! Open up." He heard a thudding at the door. It was the pirate's voice.

Fenris rolled his eyes and continued down the stairs, making his way to the kitchen, ignoring her. He was in no mood for that tonight. He figured he could just ignore her and she'd get the hint and go away. It wouldn't be the first time.

He grabbed another bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a large pull before heading back toward the stairs.

"Fenris! I can _see_ you! Let me in!" she shouted before adding in a sing-song voice, "I've got a surprise for you!"

Fenris could just make out Isabela's silhouette through the side window. He peered at it. Did she have another person with her?

"Go away, Isabela," he shouted from his spot at the foot of the stairs. "I'm in no mood."

* * *

Elissa frowned at the deep voice that finally answered Isabela's frantic knocking and yelling. She looked around, suddenly worried about all the noise they were making. This little adventure was starting to feel a little less appealing than it had in the warmth of Hawke's living room.

"Maybe we should just go," she said, hugging her arms to her chest to keep warm. "He doesn't sound like he wants visitors."

"Nonsense," Isabela replied, a determined tone to her voice. "Of course he wants visitors! He just doesn't know it yet. FENRIS!" Isabela screamed the man's name out suddenly.

Elissa pulled at her arm. "Keep it down! You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood!"

She was about to drag the pirate away, by force if she had to, when the front door to the decrepit old mansion opened.

She stood frozen in her tracks, staring at the man that appeared there.

He was the strangest looking elf Elissa had ever seen. Shocking white hair topped a face with beautifully chiseled features—even if they were marred somewhat by being contorted into an angry scowl. Elissa felt her throat go dry as she stared into the emerald green eyes that were glaring at her beneath thick black eyebrows.

She blinked a few seconds, and then allowed her eyes to wander down the man's form. He stood there with the door open to the chill Kirkwall air, clad only in a pair of loose fitting pants.

He wasn't a large man, probably only a half-foot taller than her at most, but he had wide shoulders and powerful looking arms. And then there were the markings. They started at his chin, continued down his beautiful chest to disappear tantalizingly into the fabric of the rough black pants he wore.

"Fenris!" Isabela bounced up and down and clapped her hands.

"Go away," the elf said again, and moved to close the door. Isabela stepped inside the doorframe, blocking him from shutting it.

"Just one drink," she begged, holding up a finger and giving him a pleading look. She gestured with her head at Elissa. "I just want to introduce you to my friend."

Elissa held her breath as the elf's gaze fell upon her again, feeling quite warm suddenly in spite of the chill night air. She waited breathlessly for his response.

"Fine." He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.

Isabela grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. She was near squealing with delight.

"This is going to be so much fun!"

* * *

"Mind the glass," Fenris said over his shoulder as he walked away from the front door. He didn't turn to see if his guests followed him, but he heard Isabela bounce up behind him as he took his first step on the stair.

"Fenris!" she said in a reproachful, but playful tone. "Where are your manners? I need to introduce you!"

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Isabela. "What for?" he said in surprise. This wasn't the first time Isabela had brought him a pretty thing for the both of them to enjoy. He'd never bothered learning any of their names before.

She giggled at his question, and then gestured grandly at the woman who had stepped in after her

She said with as regal as a tone as the pirate could muster, "Master Fenris, of Decrepit Old Mansion, may I present Her Majesty the Queen, Hero of Ferelden, Warden Commander and Arlessa of Amaranthine: Elissa Cousland Theirin."

The snort of laughter that escaped Fenris died a quick death when the woman took a step into the moonlight and he got a good look at her for the first time.

She was beautiful—with delicate features, shining blonde hair and a curvaceous little figure under those finely made but simple clothes. More than that, she had somehow managed to perfect the uniquely noble look of bored disdain he'd grown accustomed to seeing on women's faces after living the last few years in Hightown.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said, raising her eyebrows while she looked around. "Perfectly lovely place you've got here, Ser Fenris," she said. She put her hand on her hip and stared up at him haughtily. "_Really_ love what you've done with the place."

Fenris couldn't help it. In spite of his black mood, he laughed. "Where did you find her?" he asked Isabela incredulously.

"I didn't," Isabela beamed back at him. "She found me. Can you believe the luck?"

He cocked his head at her in confusion, before shaking his head and taking another drink from his bottle.

"Fenris," Isabela said disapprovingly. "Where are your manners?"

He looked at Isabela and then back at the blonde woman standing in his foyer. He had to admit it: he was impressed. The woman exuded the bored superiority endemic of the higher classes, and her accent was impeccable—it sounded more refined to his ears than most of the accents he heard in Hightown on a daily basis.

Where had Isabela gotten the coin to pay this class of whore, Fenris couldn't begin to imagine. Well, it was her coin to spend—might as well not waste it. He chuckled to himself before taking the few steps that separated him from "Elissa."

He spread his arms in a wide gesture.

"Welcome, _Your Majesty_, to my humble abode," he said, and then gave a dramatic bow.

Isabela chastised him again from her place on the stairs. "And now you need to offer us that drink."

He stood and looked at Isabela, before turning back to the other woman. He took a deep pull from the bottle in his hand, keeping his eyes trained on her, before holding his arm out.

"Drink?" He said giving the bottle an appetizing, little shake.

She stared at his face a long moment and Fenris had to admit that this haughty, bitchy noble thing she had going was working for him.

She snatched the bottle out of his hands and—never breaking eye contact—slowly brought the bottle up to her pretty, pouty little lips and drank.

He broke into a slow smile as she sauntered around him to join Isabela on the stairs. He watched, as the woman slid her arm around Isabela's waist and handed her the bottle.

Isabela accepted it with a laugh and took a long pull herself. She looked at Fenris with a challenging smirk. "Coming?" she asked, before grabbing Elissa's hand and leading her up the stairs.

The other woman turned to look at him as she was led away, giving him an appreciative once over before turning back towards Isabela.

Perhaps this night could be salvaged after all.


	8. Thank Hawke

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 8: Thank Hawke_

"Leliana?" Alistair's incredulous voice rang out.

The pretty redhead gasped. "Your majesty! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing!"

There was a pause, while everyone looked at each other in shock. The Divine's agent had turned out to be nothing like they'd expected.

"_The_ Leliana?" Varric asked in stunned disbelief.

Merrill turned to Hawke and whispered, "Who's Leliana again?" Before Hawke could explain, Varric grabbed his arm and shook it.

"Can you believe this night?!" he said in an excited stage whisper. "I can't believe Isabela is missing this!"

* * *

Fenris expected Isabela to waste no time and make a beeline for the bed when they made it to the bedroom suite. Instead, she extricated herself from the whore's embrace and sauntered back to Fenris, wordlessly handing him back his bottle.

He took it, and she grinned at him as he watched the other woman curiously.

She was committed to the part; Fenris had to give her that. She stood in the center of the room at first, head tilting around, looking around as if surprised to find herself amidst such squalor. With a nonchalant shrug at Isabela, she started moving around the room, daintily tracing an outstretched finger over interesting objects her eyes ran across as she moved around.

Fenris tilted his head to better admire her figure when she bent over to touch the lute he had sitting on the corner.

"You've really outdone yourself, Isabela," he murmured appreciatively, before taking a long pull on the bottle.

"I didn't have anything to do with it," Isabela shrugged. "I suppose if you want to thank anyone, you can thank Hawke."

Fenris's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "_What_?" he coughed out in shock. Hawke had always been there for him, it was true, but hiring a prostitute to entertain him, without even asking him first? That was decidedly out of character.

Isabela looked at him in surprise, puzzled at his strangulated cry. Something must've clicked together for her because her expression changed to one of insight, and then instantly to deep amusement. He watched, mystified, as she bent over, shaking in breathless laughter.

"Oh that's funny," she said between breaths. "You think . . ." She couldn't continue for a long moment, just stood there keeled over in silent laughter. Finally, she gathered herself together, and when she looked at him, once again her demeanor changed. A wolfish smile crept over her face. "_Kidding_, of course! Almost had ya too. Of course, it was my idea. Don't worry about the coin." She leaned in close and whispered, "she's _worth_ it."

Fenris snorted again and shook his head. He could think of worse things to spend gold on, he supposed. _Like searching for worthless sisters . . ._

He set the bottle down on the table and walked toward the prostitute Isabela had paid to impersonate the Queen of Ferelden.

"Come over here," he demanded in a low tone, before adding with a sneer. "Your _majesty_."

* * *

Elissa turned to stare at the insolent elf with raised eyebrows. No one spoke to her like that, in or out of the bedroom. As she watched the man stalk toward her with a hungry look on his face she suddenly realized that it was a pity.

She kind of liked it.

He came to stand right in front of her, and with shock Elissa watched as he grabbed her, and tried lean in for a demanding kiss.

She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, _hard_.

"You presume too much, _elf_." She tried to put as much venom as she could in the words, to try and cover the trembling excitement she'd felt when his face had been so very close to hers. "I'm simply here for a _drink_."

She was lying. She wasn't naïve. She'd known what she'd gotten herself into when she'd agreed to follow Isabela into the cold Kirkwall night.

It wasn't like before, in Denerim, when she'd half convinced herself Isabela really only meant "drinks" when she'd invited Elissa and Alistair back to her ship for the evening. To this day, remembering the expression of shame and delight on Alistair's face during that encounter still left her breathless.

So she had wanted this, she knew now, even when holding a dagger to the pirate's throat back at the tavern. Strip away all the betrayal and hostility in their relationship and they were left with this other equally thrilling and dangerous thing between them.

She wanted this, more badly than she'd wanted something in a long time. Funny, how it is once you get everything you want. You stop wanting things. And then you miss it.

Her eyes alighted on the lute she'd been inspecting earlier. She pointed at it.

"That . . . do you play?" she asked, fearing that the rapid beating of her heart had to be audible; it was making such a racket to her own ears.

Fenris looked back at her, his big green eyes wide with shock. "You . . . want me to play the lute for you?"

* * *

Fenris looked at Isabela in disbelief. She was no help. She just shrugged and said, "The Queen asked you a question, Fenris. Answer her."

He rolled his eyes, a little exasperated at all the pretense. Nevertheless, it was Isabela's coin, and if this is how she wanted to spend it . . .

"Yes, your majesty," he said, adopting his smoothest tone. "I do play, though not well and certainly not well enough to grace a Queen's ears." He gave a silly little bow again and waited for her to respond, ready to move past the theatrics.

She gave him a tight smile. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that," she said, before taking a seat on the bed and then looking at him expectantly. "Go on," she commanded. "Play something for us."

Fenris stared at her open-mouthed. He was about to protest that this was taking it too far, but Isabela squealed next to him and bounced over to the bed, plopping down next to Elissa.

"Yay!" she said, clapping like a child.

He chuckled to himself and dragged a chair over before picking up the lute and setting it in his lap. He picked at the strings for a few moments, twisting the knobs to tune it, before looking at the two women and saying in a very serious tone, "I won't sing."

He then launched into one of the few folk tunes he did know how to play.

* * *

"You know, when I said this night would be legendary, this isn't what I had in mind.

Hawked turned around to look at him from where he was sitting with Merrill. "What do you mean?"

Varric gestured to their surroundings. They were sitting in pews in the Chantry. Sebastian, the King and Sister Nightingale were all gathered in a huddle in some pews in front of them, having what looked to Varric like a passionate debate about free will and destiny.

It was enough to bore him to tears.

Hawke hadn't been helping. He and Merrill had been making goo-goo eyes at each other all night long. The Champion seemed content to just sit next to the little mage, quietly flirting. He gave Varric a sympathetic look now, though, and stroked his beard, trying to come up with something.

"You know," he said thoughtfully after a moment. "Last time I was at Gamlen's, I saw a note of his. He didn't want me to see it, or course, but I did. It talked about going to Darktown in search of something called the 'Gem of Karoshek.'"

Varric mulled it over. The lead was likely nothing—ancestor's knew how many get-rich-quick schemes Gamlen had his hand in over the years—but at least it had a romantic sounding name. He could work with it. "Well," he said after a moment. "It could work, but we might run into Blondie in Darktown. I was kind of hoping to save him for Buttercup."

Merrill nodded knowingly. "Right! And you don't want anyone to tell the Warden that Anders is in Kirkwall," she said with a triumphant grin—

—just as Alistair and Sebastian walked up behind them.

"Wait, what?" Alistair said, blinking at the revelation. "_Elissa's_ Anders?"

Merrill looked mortified at having again spilled the beans. Varric patted her hand reassuringly, before turning to the King.

"That'd be the one," he said mildly.

"I'll be a—" Alistair started, and then stopped, fuming suddenly. "That son of a bitch is alive?"

_Oh shit. _What the fuck kind of trouble was Anders in now?


	9. Clean Faces, Nice Clothes, White Teeth

_Author's note: Please note that the rating for this story has changed from T to **M** with this chapter. Blame Isabela (I know I do)._

* * *

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

_Chapter 9_

Aveline pounded on the door to the Amell estate and then waited impatiently for it to open. The house seemed quiet. _If Hawke wasn't at home, where was he?_

Donnic cleared his throat. She looked up at him, saw his thoroughly bored but resigned expression, and immediately felt guilty. She'd sneaked tonight's guard route into her schedule at the last minute. It was supposed to have been a sort of present for Donnic. They'd both been working so hard lately, and they hardly ever had the same night off.

A stroll through Hightown at night had sounded romantic, Aveline had to admit. The gangs didn't bother people any more so the streets were reasonably safe. And she'd gone and ruined it by getting caught up in Hawke's business again. She opened her mouth to apologize when the front door opened.

"Captain Aveline," the dwarf said in surprise. "If you're here to join the others, you've just missed them."

"The others?" she asked, feeling her curiosity return. "Who was here tonight, Bodahn?"

"Well, Master Varric, of course, and you know, some of the others," he nodded vaguely. "But don't you know it was the strangest thing—Hawke brought over some old friends of mine!"

"What . . . _dwarves_?" Donnic asked, and Aveline looked at him, suddenly proud. He'd always been a good guardsmen—thorough with procedure, but with enough wit to piece things together.

It didn't hurt that he was so handsome.

"No, not dwarves," Bodahn went on to explain enthusiastically. "Humans! From Ferelden! Them's that I followed during the Blight."

"Wait," Aveline said, "You don't mean . . . "

* * *

"Hold still," Anders said. "This is going to hurt."

The Darktown healer placed his hands on the boy's face, thumbs on either side of his ruined nose. Gently but firmly, he slid his thumbs downward, feeling the bones shift back into place at his touch, as the child tried his best not to move. The kid wasn't able to take the pain quietly, however.

"Arrrrrrrgh . . . _Maker,"_he spat, as Anders removed his hands and handed him a clean cloth.

"Now, why don't you tell me," Anders said, wiping his hands before turning back to the messenger boy. He put his hands back on the boy's face, this time applying feather light pressure, and letting his magic seep from his fingertips into the boy's nose, speeding along the healing and soothing his pain. "Why did Varric want me to come to the Hanged Man?"

The boy gave a sigh of relief. "I don't know."

"Well," Anders said, removing his hand from the boy's face. "You're all better now."

The boy opened his eyes and felt his nose with one hand, face in shock at the state of his nose. "Wow, it's like nuthin' happened!"

"You're welcome," Anders said significantly, before standing up and gesturing for the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

"Oh yeah," the kid said jumping up and making for the door. Before he did, he turned back to the mage. "You know maybe it's just coincidence but, right before Varric asked me to come see you, this good looking couple walked in."

Anders cocked his head. "Good looking couple?"

"Yeah, well, you know," the kid shrugged, kicking a toe in the dirt. "Clean faces, nice clothes, and white teeth. Like you and your friends."

Anders gave a wry smile and waved the kid on. "Well, who knows what that was about then, eh?" he said, turning back to his desk full of vials, eager to return to work.

"You know, now that I think of it . . ." the kid lingered at the door, a nuisance now, an afterthought. "The man looked an awful lot like you."

Anders nodded absentmindedly at his concoctions, not really considering what the boy said until long after he was gone.

"Wait," he said aloud, even though he was alone. The thought struck him, and he couldn't ignore it. "Looked like me . . ."

_No._

It couldn't have been. What were the chances . . . ?

Anders quickly gathered his things, thinking that perhaps sleeping away from the clinic for the night might be a good idea.

* * *

"Take me to him. _Now._"

Varric knew a royal command when he heard one, and while he got the feeling the King didn't throw his weight around that often, he could tell that refusing now would be a bad idea.

He spared a glance at the Champion and his stomach tensed, seeing the angry look on his friend's face.

"I am sorry, your majesty," Hawke said, pulling himself up to his full height. He was as tall as the King. "But no matter what your business is or was with Anders . . . I still consider him a friend, and would not have him harmed."

Varric raised his eyebrows. He wasn't sure what Hawke's reaction would be, considering that the Champion and Blondie didn't seem to be getting along all that well lately. In spite of everything it made him feel glad to know that Hawke still considered the mage a friend, and someone worth protecting.

He turned back to face the king, who was standing in front of the Champion, glaring back. Varric gulped, wondering what the king's response would be, when Alistair finally gave a nod and said "I just want to talk. I won't hurt him. You have my word."

Hawke considered this for a moment, eyes straying to Varric for approval. What could they do? He had no idea what had happened with the King and Anders (or how the Queen fit into all of this) but he couldn't imagine trying to prevent the King from seeing him.

He knew the question implicit in Hawke's glance. _Can we trust him?_

Varric shrugged. He thought they could. And if they couldn't well . . . he was here by himself. The man may be skilled in battle, but he couldn't overpower the rest of them.

"Alright," Hawke said at last. "Let's go see Anders."

* * *

Elissa sat on the hard twin bed, watching the elf painfully pick out the notes to some tune she barely recognized. He was right about one thing: he could not play well. Still, it gave her a moment to simply stare at him uninterrupted, and for that, she was grateful.

Isabela was right; he was a beautiful creature.

As if she had been reading her thoughts, Isabela leaned over and whispered to her, "Isn't he glorious?"

Elissa shrugged, trying to appear composed. "He's not unpleasant to look at, I'll give you that," she whispered back. Isabela answered with a snort.

"You have no idea what you're in for, kitten," Isabela purred in Elissa's ear, her fingers suddenly stroking a delicate path down her arm. "I _promise_ you've never had anything like it."

She twirled a finger on the top of Elissa's leg, and seeing no resistance, slowly eased her hand to rest between her thighs. Elissa's breath caught in her throat as Isabela curled her fingers together, the touch not nearly enough through the fabric of her pants.

She gasped and let her legs fall open, turning her face towards Isabela's. The pirate smiled back at her, eyes full of lust and drink, and leaned toward her for a kiss.

The music stopped. Elissa heard two, three footsteps and then Fenris was standing in front of them, watching Isabela knead her fingers into Elissa's crotch.

"So, can we move on to the fucking now?" he asked dryly, and Isabela's laugh tittered in her ear. She found herself being pushed back on to the bed, whether it was by Isabela or Fenris, she wasn't sure.

She didn't really care.

She gasped when Isabela removed her hand, the pirate's nimble fingers moving instead to work on her belt. Fenris laid down next to her, content to prop himself up on an elbow and watch as Isabela stripped off Elissa's pants.

She was mesmerized, staring at the elf's large green eyes as his gaze devoured her nakedness. She could tell he liked what he saw—even through the loose fitting pants, his erection was evident.

Isabela's mouth descended on her and she was suddenly incoherent with pleasure.

How long had it been since she'd felt such soft lips and smooth cheeks like this between her legs? Years . . . she didn't mind Alistair's beard but this was . . .

She groaned. She couldn't _think. _ Isabela was lapping at her like she was candy. There was a small, tiny part of her mind that screamed at her in alarm at her own behavior, but she steadfastly ignored the chastising voice in her head and closed her eyes, concentrating only on Isabela's mouth on her body.


End file.
